Atlas
by little.acatalepsy
Summary: "Tony did not detonate. Instead, he did what Steve had feared even more. He faded away without a sound." Tony has not been the same since he returned from space. Now he's disappeared again and Steve must confront the burden that they have both chosen to bear. Post-IW.
1. Part I

**Something to hold you over during the final month of waiting. This will be a three-shot, so look out for more chapters. **

**Plot Summary: "Tony did not detonate. Instead, he did what Steve had feared even more. He faded away without a sound." Tony has not been the same since he returned from Space. Now he's disappeared again and Steve must confront the burden that they have both chosen to bear. **

**Setting: Post-IW, takes place sometime during the beginning of Endgame (AU, obviously, since I haven't actually seen Endgame). Note, I'm leaving how Tony gets back to Earth somewhat ambiguous since that is not really the point of this story.**

**Warnings: Language, alcohol, and angst. **

**Enjoy!**

**-Cat**

* * *

Part I

It did not take long to realize that Tony was missing.

This was one of the things that had changed since... well, since everything. He wanted to say since they got Tony back in the first place. But really, it would be better to catalogue change since Thanos ripped away half of the universe.

No, that would also be unfair to the story. If Steve were being more honest, he would say since Siberia. One of the thousands of big and little things that had changed.

Before… all of that.

Before, no one would know for days on end, because Tony stayed in his workshop for days on end. Steve wondered if it was just a quality of genius, to torture oneself with binges of creation, regardless of physical or mental health. Tony would soar above such menial things until he crashed down into them like an airplane crashing into a frozen sea. Until then, he defied human limitations by surviving on coffee and motor oil and disgusting green smoothies. There was a luxury couch in the workshop, modern and sleek-lined, where he flirted briefly with sleep. His robots draped him in ratty blankets and canvas tarps, which would then be discarded on the high-quality fabric after mere hours. This, Steve noticed, was still the same.

"Tony?"

Steve was standing in the workshop now with Natasha and Bruce, noticing.

Noticing that couch, the t-shirt thrown carelessly next to it, empty mugs and glasses, prescription pills. Noticing that the workspace in comparison was meticulously organized, except one area which had clearly been subject to recent tinkering on... whatever the hell Tony's brain was stuck on. And there was a smaller workbench on the far end of the room, one with a cork-board and messy in a way that betrayed something… youthful. Tangled headphones, textbooks, loose-leaf graffitied with doodles, chemicals languishing in erlenmeyer flasks, a moldy sandwich. Steve swallowed hard. Tony clearly had not cleaned it since... well, now he was back to that uncomfortable train of thought. Steve spun back to the workshop and scanned it sharply. He noticed absence.

"He's not here," Bruce said, eyeing the chemicals and the furry mold with something like sadness. Steve remembered. And knew why.

"_Who was fighting with you?" _

"_The Guardians of the Galaxy. Quill, Drax, Mantis. There were two others with Stark, a wizard and a boy called Spiderman," Nebula reported dispassionately. They were in a conference room, gray sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was just Steve, Nebula, and Carol Danvers. Nebula refused to look at them, instead staring out of the windows at the dreary landscape. But the fact that she was speaking to them was an improvement. _

"_Just you and Tony escaped?" _

"_The rest turned to dust. Stark's son died in his arms." _

_Steve paused. Then started to say, "Tony doesn't have-"_

"_Oh. God," came a soft exclamation behind him. It was Colonel Rhodes, just returning from calling Pepper. Steve's world tilted again. _

"Tony?" called Steve again into the work space. No answer except his own voice echoing back. Somewhere, a robot, Dum-E, whirred sadly. Worry sputtered through Steve's chest, irrationally potent. _No._ No this was completely rational. Tony had not been… had not been well.

"Friday, where's Tony?"

"Boss has gone out," replied the AI blandly.

He could feel Natasha's eyes on him, steady and concerned. Concerned for him or for Tony?

"Where did he go?"

"Out," repeated the AI, with some measure of reproach.

"Can you track him?"

"He disabled all tracking software on his vehicle and devices."

Steve cursed under his breath. It seemed that he was doing that a lot lately.

"Do you have surveillance footage of him before he left?" Natasha asked, speaking for the first time since they entered the workshop. Steve glanced in her direction and found that she was still watching him.

The AI was silent for a moment, clearly hesitating.

"I know he wants his privacy, but he's still recovering. We just need to know he's safe," Steve added (pleaded).

Friday still said nothing, but a blue screen appeared before Steve and hovered there. The time stamp was for that morning, 10:09 a.m. It showed Tony stiffly picking his way through the rows of cars in the garage. Steve could not read the expression on his face, but he did see what was cradled in his left arm. Two bottles, filled with amber liquid that sloshed like oil against the sides as Tony limped.

"_Tony_," Steve whispered, and his fist clenched.

The pixelated Tony stopped besides a nondescript sedan (unusual for the flashy billionaire) and gingerly got in, flipping sunglasses down over his face. The engine roared to life, then the car sped out of the garage.

No one spoke, but Steve knew what they were thinking.

Among the thousands of big and little things that had changed, Tony was one of them.

"Friday, can you turn the tracking software back on?"

"Boss requested that I only re-activate the trackers if he is in grave danger."

"He could be-"

"Ms. Potts or Colonel Rhodes will be notified if Boss needs assistance," interrupted the AI frostily. "No one else."

Steve heard Natasha exhale, slow and resigned. "Thank you, Friday," she murmured. She turned to Steve. "He'll be okay."

"Will he?" Steve asked quietly. Because lately… lately Tony had been far from okay.

After…

"_Any progress?" _

_Bruce removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His hair had grown since Wakanda. It was starting to curl over his forehead. And there was a shadow of stubble on his jaw. He'd just come through the door to Tony's room, dark circles beneath his eyes and wearing the same clothes he had been wearing two days ago. _

"_He'll be fine, Steve," Bruce answered exhaustedly. "He's just… very sick." _

"_But has anything changed since he got here?" Steve pushed. _

_Bruce sighed. "No." _

_Steve dug his fingernails into his palms and said, "Okay. Get some rest." _

"_I have to update Pepper when she gets back-"_

"_I'll do it," said Steve on impulse. "Please, Bruce, you need to sleep. I'll-I'll wait with him." _

_Bruce scrutinized him with red-rimmed brown eyes, catching the hesitation without effort. "It really wasn't good between you two, was it?" _

"_Hasn't Natasha told you everything?" Steve asked warily. It had been nearly two months since Bruce returned to Earth, since Thanos had wiped out half the population. Since Tony Stark had vanished into the black expanse of space. And more than two years since Steve had felt like Captain America. _

"_Everything she knows," Bruce answered. "So no, not everything. No one seems to know everything except you and Tony." _

"_Oh," Steve murmured, lost for what to say next. _

"_He probably won't wake up for a few more days," Bruce said then, as if this were reassuring. What was unsaid: "You won't have to talk to him yet." Was that what Steve wanted? God, he did not even know if _wanting _something mattered anymore. Bruce turned away and shuffled down the sterile white hallway of the medical wing. Steve opened the door quietly and entered the dim, warm room. It was filled with faint beeps and clicks and hissing. Tony still had not opened his eyes. _

_He hadn't since he'd been rescued. _

_He was older. That was the first thing that Steve had noticed on the television following their split. But now Tony seemed ancient. His hair was lightening to gray and plastered to his forehead with sweat. Blue veins spiderwebbed underneath his translucent skin, over bones that stuck out of his gaunt face. He was far too pale, with high spots of color on his cheekbones. Infection, Bruce said. From the wound in his side. Nebula told them that it was delivered by Thanos with one of Tony's own weapons. That Tony was lucid enough to experience the starvation, the dehydration, the hypoxia before their rescue. _

_But they already knew this from his message. Steve shuddered at the whispered memory, the panic that was blinding._

_After everything, Tony deserved a break. But then the fever had crept up like a silent assassin. _

_Steve prayed it wouldn't win. And he waited for Pepper. _

* * *

He found Colonel Rhodes in the weights room. Mostly because he didn't know what else to do.

"Tony's gone," Steve said without any preamble.

Rhodes paused mid-bench-press and glanced at him with dark eyes. There was a slick film of sweat on his brow. He lowered the bar, his face betraying no emotion until he was upright. There was a mechanical whirr as he adjusted his legs and leaned to the floor for his towel and water. After a long swig, he wiped his mouth with a forearm and finally spoke.

"You sure?"

"Positive. Friday showed us the security tapes. He's disabled the tracking devices."

"He took a car?"

"And two bottles of what looked like whiskey."

Rhodes' expression tightened, the sheen on his face shifting in the bright overhead lights. Strangely, the show of concern helped Steve take a breath. They were on the same page, then. He and the Colonel had not exactly been the best of friends since their reunion. There was no outward sign, every interaction respectful and professional. But Steve was aware of the distance Rhodes kept, the neat package of unsaid words behind his locked jaw. Once, Steve would have wanted to heal the rift, to take the necessary steps back to friendship. But he knew better now. Words might not be enough, so he would try time. Besides, part of him (a tiny, cowardly part) did not want to find out if Rhodes knew everything about Siberia.

"Friday, did Tony mention when he'd be back?" Rhodes asked the room.

"Sometime in the evening, Colonel Rhodes," Friday answered, with what Steve felt was an unnecessary show of warmth. "I will contact you if he decides to return later."

"Thank you, Friday."

Rhodes stood, rolled his shoulders, then headed in the direction of the showers.

"Wait," Steve called after his retreating back. "You aren't going to look for him?"

"Honestly, Rogers, I think whatever this is, it was a long time coming," Rhodes said, turning back to Steve. "I'm going to alert Pepper and let it play out for now. If he's not back by tonight, then yes, I will look for him."

It certainly was a long time coming. It was like Steve had been waiting for _this_. Like the entire team had been on the brink, holding their breath. For Tony to crack, explode even. He would leave a mess of damaged parts for them to pick up and fit together. Somehow, Steve believed that it would help. Not heal them, but maybe start the process. In fact, Steve had been counting on it, counting on Tony to detonate in spectacular fashion as he used to. Counting on a fight or a breakdown, something chaotic and messy but cathartic.

Most of all, he was counting on the Aftermath. For the old Tony to be born from the ashes, bright and burning with schemes. And for the rest of the Avengers to be renewed with him.

He'd been ashamed of wanting that.

Now, he was unable to reconcile himself with this new reality.

_When the fever finally broke, Tony was quiet. His usual energy returned slowly. But it was frantic, vibrating beneath his silence. It made his hands shake, his few words to everyone dull, his fewer words to Steve sharp, his mood unpredictable. And worst of all he seemed… trapped. Stuck beneath sterile sheets. Bound by wires and tubes. _

_Even after he had ventured out of the medical bay (far sooner than he should have), he seemed to be operating from behind the walls of a personal prison. When Pepper was away, he stayed locked inside his workshop. Steve watched unseen outside as Tony paced, tinkered, sat incredibly still, then start all over again. And produced nothing. _

_Steve was watching a shell. A wind-up toy going in circles. _

"_I'll be fine, Rogers." _

_An observant one, apparently. But the voice that emanated from the workshop was much milder than the sporadic, razor-edged comments of the last week. Steve hesitated. Was this an invitation to enter? But before he could decide, Tony was there walking through the door. He scanned Steve critically, absently wiping dirty hands on his t-shirt. His cheeks were hollow. _

"_What I'm saying is, I don't need a babysitter." _

"_I know you don't." _

"_Then why are you hovering like a mute mother hen? I get enough of that from Nebula."_

"_We're holding a meeting tomorrow. About what to do next." _

"_You came to tell me that? I already know, Rogers." _

"_Are you coming?" _

"_Sure. Yeah." _

_He shifted his weight to his left foot, drew in a sharp breath, and shifted it back. Then he threw Steve a challenging look, as if daring him to comment. Steve did not. He was still stuck on Tony's response. Uncaring. Un-anything. And Steve was unable to come up with a way to make things better. They'd made perfunctory amends, but it was prefaced by grief. Steve was starting to believe that these weren't enough. _

_God, he wanted them to be. _

"_Tony…" _

"_What?" snapped Tony when Steve did not continue. And anything Steve was going to say evaporated. _

"_Nevermind. We can talk later." _

"_Yeah. Later," Tony repeated. He sounded distracted, but Steve did not trust this. Tony could sound whatever he wanted to be, even if it was the opposite. "I'm going to bed. Tired." _

_Steve let him limp away. _

_At the meeting, Steve learned the true depths of Tony's silence. There was not a single interruption, a single disagreement or tactless quip or insult. It was like he was not even there. Like the heart of the Avengers could not find a reason to beat again. _

No, Tony did not detonate. Instead, he did what Steve had feared even more. He faded away without a sound.

Steve had the odd sensation that now he was trapped too. He had no other plan to heal them. The team. What kind of leader was he, that he expected his damaged teammate to be the cure? Were they even teammates? Sure, they were reunited, even working towards reconciled, but… no one here was whole.

Maybe it was Steve's fault.

"He hasn't been himself," Steve said to Rhodes. Too late, he realized that he had let his desperation show. Rhodes had the grace to say nothing, but he nodded, almost to himself. Steve cleared his throat. It clicked like the clink of two bottles of whiskey. "Do you think he'll come back?"

Rhodes stared hard at him. They were no longer talking about Tony's physical disappearance. Then, strangely, his mouth softened and the corners lifted just slightly. Steve suddenly got the sense that Rhodes knew something that he did not.

"Against all odds," Rhodes said. "Tony always comes back."

* * *

**A/N: Review please! And expect a new chapter coming...eventually :) **


	2. Part II

**One more month exactly people! Thank you to those you reviewed/favorited/followed. Your support is much appreciated! **

**And now let's see what Tony was up to...**

**-Cat**

**Warning: There is a mention of suicide in this chapter. No intent, but just so you are aware. **

* * *

Part II

"Friday, tell Rhodey I need a ride. Let him know I have a car, he can fly to my coordinates."

Stop for breath. He counted up to ten. _Inhale_. Then he counted back down to one. _Exhale_.

"Colonel Rhodes is on his way," sounded Friday's voice from the speakers.

He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Fry." God, he was tired. So tired he could barely think straight. So tired that he knew he couldn't drive any further. His body was… not as functional as it once was. Broken. And he was still an hour away from the Compound.

The car interior smelled of leather and faint cigar smoke. It was chilly outside, but he turned off the engine, allowing the cold to creep in. He was parked on the cracked pavement of a gas station somewhere north of the city. It seemed abandoned, even though the lights still flickered with harsh, artificial brightness. Plastic yellow bags covered the pumps. Trying to stop himself from passing out, he numbly counted the dirty cars that passed on the street.

He must have drifted though, because the whine of repulsors and the thud of iron on pavement jolted him awake. Relief flooded into his limbs. What did he do to deserve Rhodey? He opened the door but remained in the driver's seat. Rhodes retracted his suit and hurried around to him.

"Hey, Tones," he said, scanning Tony with a practiced eye. He paused momentarily on the bruise that was starting to form on his left cheek.

"Hey Jim," Tony replied with a sleep-sloppy grin. Really, he had done a superb job on Rhodey's legs.

"You drunk?"

"No," Tony murmured honestly. "Just… too tired to make it home."

"Okay," said Rhodey. And just like that he believed him. Tony was grateful that he didn't have to insist or explain. Instead, Rhodey hauled him up bodily, then slung one of his arms over his shoulders (Was it that obvious that the wound was bothering him?). He helped Tony around the car to the passenger side. Tony slumped down into the seat and fumbled with the buckle. Rhodey left him to it, instructing his suit to return to the compound. Then, he slid easily into the driver's side.

Wordlessly, Rhodey handed him two pills and a bottled water. Tony accepted them with a grunt, swallowing them almost desperately as they pulled out of the desolate gas station.

They sped through the night in silence, the throbbing in his side subsiding to a numb ache aided by the painkillers. The ride passed in a nightmareish, technicolor pulse of waking and being trapped in half-dreams. Tony drifted, then lurched back to the world, over and over. Once he heard Rhodes speaking softly with someone on the phone. "He's fine, just completely exhausted. No, I don't know where he was, I wanted to let him sleep. Yep, he's all yours when we get back." That was ominous. "I'll tell the others to back off until he's gotten some rest."

"Pepper?" Tony asked when he hung up.

"Pepper," confirmed Rhodey. Tony relaxed. He had not really thought about the repercussions of him disappearing suddenly that day. Nor had he really cared at the time. But he should have told Pepper and Rhodey. He decided to voice this aloud, to which Rhodey replied, "Yeah maybe. You got everyone's heart rates up today, that's for sure. Honestly though, I think Pepper and I are hardened by experience. You scared Rogers more than either of us."

"Did I?" Tony murmured.

"Hard to believe, but I guess he forgot some of your quirks in the last two years."

"Quirks."

Rhodey gave him an exasperated look in the dark. "Yeah. Quirks." He didn't elaborate further, but Rhodey was not one to waste words if he didn't need to. Tony could read his irritation and worry in his tone. Rhodey cared. That reminder felt nice. But Steve…

"So Rogers was worried then?" Tony asked with a smirk.

"I'm sure he'll tell you all about it," Rhodey predicted wryly.

The smirk slipped from Tony's face. "Great," he muttered. Last thing he needed was a lecture from Captain Righteous himself. After the day he'd had…

Rhodey glanced at him again, his wrinkled brow visible in the headlights of an oncoming car. "I know you two talked a little. Do you forgive him?"

That was a loaded question that Tony was too exhausted to unpack. "I don't know," he settled on, staring out windshield. Steve was… a whole different kind of problem. Tony would like to pretend their issues didn't exist (they had much bigger problems to deal with), but there was something… inescapable about Steve. He was just so solidly _there. _Even when he tried to pass unnoticed, he took up space. Steve was a universal constant. Steve was fundamental. Despite his taste for excess and luxury, Tony liked fundamentals. Any engineer worth his salt did. They were reliable things, the purest forms of science.

Tony just didn't know if he liked _Steve_.

("_He's my friend." "So was I."_)

Rhodey had fallen silent, and Tony didn't break it. Instead, he concentrated on not feeling so much. He kept his eyes closed against the darkness until they reached the compound, lit up with floodlights.

Pepper was waiting in the garage, immaculate in her t-shirt and pajama pants. But as Tony got out of the car he noticed the redness of her eyes. He quirked a half-smile and murmured, "A few tears for your long-lost fiance?"

She rolled her eyes and helped him gently from the car. "No tears," she said quietly. Her fingers delicately brushed his bruised cheek. "I knew whatever you were doing had to be important. Let's go to bed. Thanks, Jim."

"No problem. You good Tones?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm good."

Tony let her lead him through the compound to their private quarters (they didn't run into anyone, thank God). He kept his gaze fixed on the mesmerizing shimmer of her sleek ponytail until they were safely in their bedroom. She sat him down on the mattress, then got in on her side and leaned against the headboard. She knew that he would be reluctant to sleep. So he prepared for the inevitable question. The one thing he did not want to think about above all else, including Rogers.

"Where were you today, Tony?"

"_Where. Were. You?" _

_The question stole the air straight out of Tony's lungs. Where was he? He was back on that god-damned ship, sucking on a void, oxygen wilting away from his blood. But he had to answer. He slammed back to earth._

"_I'm sorry," he said. He hated the excuse as soon as it left his mouth. "I came here as soon as I could." _

"_It's been months." _

"_I know." _

"_No you don't," hissed the beautiful, distraught woman before him. "You can't even imagine-" But she choked, covered her mouth with a trembling hand, eyes wet behind large glasses. _

"_May-"_

_He did not see the blow coming, but he wasn't surprised by the stinging in his cheek. Stars bloomed in his vision and he blinked hard against them. She had a good swing. He shifted his jaw. "I deserved that." _

_Then May was suddenly sobbing in his arms in the dirty hallway. Uncertain, he clumsily guided her back inside and shut the door. It was dark. Electricity was spotty in certain parts of the city. Not enough personnel to man the power plants or maintain the grid. He pushed a pile of half-folded laundry off the couch and lowered her onto it. Then he set down his two bottles and went into the kitchen. The dishes were partially clean too, some neatly stacked in the drying rack, some still in the sink. He chose two glasses and returned to the living room. She was still inconsolable, so he looked around awkwardly, wishing he could be anywhere else, wishing he did not have to be here. If only, if only… _

_He found a box of Kleenex and placed it in front of her and waited. He'd had plenty of practice, waiting. He spent almost two months in space waiting for rescue. What were a few more minutes? Finally she began to calm down. The waves of sobs softened into hiccups. She dried her face, smearing her make-up. Strands of brown hair were coming loose from her braid and Tony marveled that she had the strength to do her hair and make-up at all. The strength to maintain normalcy in the face of loss. But then, Pepper had done the same thing. While Tony felt like he was falling apart. He took a seat beside May. She stared at him with wide, red eyes. _

"_You aren't going to hit me again, are you?" _

"_No," she said hoarsely. _

"_Drink?" _

"_Please," she gasped. _

_He poured her a glass of his finest whiskey. Then poured himself a glass of his finest apple juice. Together they downed them, and he poured another shot. And a third. _

"_It… it wasn't fair. To hit you." _

"_Oh it definitely was," Tony mumbled, running his tongue around his mouth, wishing the sickly sweetness of apple juice was burning his insides to nothing instead. But he'd promised Pepper. Not now, while he was on a cocktail of pain medication and antibiotics and gods knew what else. _

"_I know the reports. You returned to earth two weeks ago," she accused, weakly angry once more. "Why didn't you come then?" _

"_I was indisposed," Tony answered immediately. It was rehearsed, unfeeling. _

_She was quiet, gulping down another shot like it was oxygen. Her gaze travelled over him again. Could she tell? Did she know that he was too damaged, perhaps, to fight anymore? Then, in a small, shaky voice she said, "I thought he might be with you." _

"_I'm sorry," Tony whispered again, stunned. He hadn't even considered… but of course she would think that. Hope was a bastard. _

"_I thought he would come here, after I heard the news. I waited… I… I tried to call. Lines were down. I-I kept his room ready…" She waved a hand in the direction of his room. Tony resisted the urge to look. Then he was caught by her stare again, heavy with grief and blame. "Tell me."_

"_May, I-"_

"_Tell me," she ordered steadily. _

_His mouth opened and closed. Anything he'd prepared evaporated. He swallowed hard. He wanted to lie, but his quick-silver tongue was like lead. _

"_Was it just like everyone else?" she demanded desperately. _

"_He knew." It slipped from his mouth before he could stop it. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he spare her this? But it was like he was crumbling under its gravity. He hadn't even been able to tell Pepper. "It was his-his spider-thing. He felt it coming."_

"_Was he scared?" whispered May to her glass of whiskey. _

_Tony nodded shortly. _

"_Was it fast?" _

"_I was with him," he said instead, trying to walk back the harshness of the truth. "He wasn't alone." _

_Her eyes squeezed shut. "He shouldn't have been there." _

"_No," Tony agreed softly. "He shouldn't have." _

_By her solid silence, he knew she would blame him for a long time. They said nothing more, drinking whiskey and apple juice until May's eyes started to droop. Tony waited until she was snoring on the couch, then covered her with the throw that was draped over the back. He washed the two glasses and dried them. Peter's room was just visible through the cracked door, but he stayed away, not needing a reminder of just how innocent the blood on his hands was. He lost himself in the act of doing the rest of the dishes, a chore he'd rarely needed to perform in his life. One May had been doing daily, a routine to block out her loss. Or in the hope that Peter would come back. He wondered if she would continue doing the dishes now. _

_He wondered if one day she might find comfort in the knowledge that Peter wasn't alone. He never would. He could still feel Peter dissolving like sand in his fingers. _

He could feel it even now. Pepper was silent beside him in the king-sized bed, absorbing his quick bursts of explanation.

"I offered for her to come stay at the compound. That neighborhood isn't as safe as it used to be. She said no."

"You can't control what other people choose, Tony," said Pepper gently.

"I know, I just-I just want to do something to fix all of this crap!" He did not notice that his volume was increasing. "I _knew_ this was coming Pep! I. Knew. And I couldn't stop… I couldn't stop it from happening, I couldn't stop Peter-It's my _fault._" The word was sharp enough to crack marble. He swallowed. His throat hurt. He clenched his jaw tighter and blinked hard.

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Yes," Tony replied. It wouldn't matter, since he wouldn't believe her. Pepper knew this just as well as he did, but her eyes still said it all. _It's not your fault, Tony._ _Please stop blaming yourself. _

"Did telling May about Peter help?" she asked out loud.

"It was the only thing I could do," he rasped. It had not helped him, but maybe… maybe it would help May. She could grieve now. And even, eventually, move on. Tony would not. He knew he wouldn't from the moment he left Peter's ashes on Titan.

He needed to figure out how to deal with that, and soon. He couldn't keep drifting through the compound like a ghost. He was supposed to be made of iron, right?

"Thanos is still out there," said Tony.

"He is."

"I couldn't stop it," Tony whispered. _I couldn't save him. _

"No one could," Pepper said. Then she asked what no one else had dared since he woke. "Are you going to go after him?"

He couldn't answer. Her hands, paradoxically tender and strong, went to his tense shoulders and she pulled him back so that his head was resting on her abdomen. Her fingers carded through his hair and he felt her lips warm against the top of his head. Tony lay still, feeling her heartbeat and imagining that he could detect the tiny flutter of the second.

No one knew but the two of them and Rhodes. But she was beginning to show. Tony was paralyzed between elated and devastated. Just when he thought he had nothing more to lose, he had everything to lose. How could he leave? But how could he stay? Thanos knew him. And if there was a chance that he could save what he failed to protect in the first place…

"I love you, Tony Stark," Pepper murmured into his scalp with warm breath. The words melted into his skull and over his sputtering brain like cool water. "And I know that you will figure out what you are supposed to do."

* * *

When Tony jerked awake, it was still night. It was years of practice that kept him from gasping out loud. His jaw was clenched so hard, he felt around with his tongue to check if any molars had cracked. Breathing deeply through his nose, he took stock of reality. Pepper was a warm body beside him, buried deep under the comforter. His fingers brushed the silk of her night-dress (instead of soft ashes on orange stone), then he slid from the bed with practiced ease despite the stiffness in his torso. He couldn't stay in bed. But instead of leading him to his workshop, his feet went up, up flights of stairs until he was on the roof.

Space expanded above his head into infinity. Or at least he knew this objectively. A stratus of gray particles obscured everything.

("_Saw them all dead, Nick. The whole world too."_)

Sometimes he still felt the bitter adrenaline in his mouth, the nuclear missile slipping from his grasp. Still watched as its inertia carried it onward into the mothership of the Chitauri.

("_Watched my friends die. You'd think that'd be as bad as it gets, right? Nope. That wasn't the worst part." _

"_The worst part, is that you didn't."_)

His worst fear had come true. ("_Mr. Stark. I don't feel-"_) Despite everything he'd done, every desperate attempt ended in failure. Ultron. The Accords. ("_The Futurist, gentlemen! The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what's best for you, whether you like it or not."_). Ironic. The Futurist who couldn't seem to escape his past.

Who cared if he was right?

He had failed again. A fatal error.

He didn't feel vindicated. He felt empty.

Strange should have let him die. And now half the universe had paid the price. He wove around the AC units and pipes to the edge of the roof and settled there, against the cold metal railing. Tony tilted his head back and pretended he could see the stars. He'd hated them for so long, and now he'd give anything to see beyond the dust.

("_Don't waste your life."_)

That was how Natasha found him, still leaning on the rail and looking up at the smothered stars. In the distance, the sky was just starting to lighten.

"Steve's not okay," she said as a greeting.

"You came all the way up here at the ass-crack of dawn to tell me that?" She looked at him, stone-faced. God, he wished she would leave. He was too fragile and she was harder after Thanos. But she remained, a raw, shadowy figure on the roof. "I know," Tony said finally. "Everyone in this goddamn compound is not okay, including you. Why should he be an exception? And how did you even know I was here?"

"I followed you."

"You decided to spy on me instead of sleep?"

"We take shifts."

"Haha," Tony deadpanned.

"Keep pulling stunts like you did yesterday and we will."

She moved closer and Tony watched her out of the corner of his eye. The sky was a strange, middling gray behind her. A slight breeze picked up the ends of her hair as she leaned on the metal rails at the roof's edge. He observed without trying to look like he was staring. She'd dyed it again, red that tapered into blond like a flame. When had she done that? Had it been like that when she was lurking in the shadows of his hospital room? Or watching from afar while he limped between his and Pepper's bedroom and his workshop?

To be honest, he had not been paying attention.

"I came up here at the ass-crack of dawn because you aren't okay either," she said eventually.

Tony snorted, even though it wasn't funny. "I did not survive insane titans, alien planets, and the fucking end of the world as we know it just to hurl myself off the roof."

"Still, I had to check."

Considering his numb attitude of the past week, Tony could not blame her for checking. Hell, he hadn't even noticed she'd dyed her hair. But old defense mechanisms made him bite out, "According to you I'm incapable of letting go of my ego and somehow I doubt jumping fits into-"

"I shouldn't have said that. You weren't just thinking of yourself and I should have known. I'm sorry."

Her apology just made him feel a little more empty. Apologizing was all anyone seemed to do these days. "It's fine," he muttered. "Bygones and all that. It was years ago anyway."

"We shouldn't have let it go that long."

"That's on all of us," Tony stated, unsure where this conversation was going. "I never called."

"And neither did we," Natasha stated bluntly.

"Right."

"We left you to deal with the fall-out alone. We watched you shoulder it all, then pull together the scraps. Vision and Rhodes." Tony thought of all the rooms that had been scraped empty by their 'civil war.' The silence was often too painful to remain in the compound long. Why was she dragging all of this up now? Didn't she understand he was barely coping with their current situation? Then, without warning, she added, "And the kid. Spiderman."

"He wasn't an Avenger then," Tony corrected. His voice came out steady, even though he'd flinched when she mentioned him.

_("Kid, you're an Avenger now._")

"No. But he was someone, wasn't he?" she asked, more gentle than he'd ever heard her.

It was the last thing he wanted. The great Tony Stark, undone by a question. But he was already spent by his drive to Queens, his conversation with May, the bone-wrenching grief he'd been ignoring for days, the uncertainty of what to do next. He was grateful that Natasha stayed where she was when he sucked in a breath and screwed his eyes tight. He was leaning heavily on the rail now, and his hands were clenched and shaking in his hair. _I'm sorry_, he'd said. Peter had said, _I'm sorry._

Somehow, he ended up sitting on the gravelly surface of the roof. His back was leaning against something hard and his hand was over his mouth. He knew he was crying. He could feel the cold wetness on his cheeks and the pain in his throat had reached a crescendo.

It took a long time to pull himself back together. When he finally did, Natasha was still there, only now she was seated next to him, staring straight ahead.

"He died in my arms," he told her, roughly. She surprised him by taking his hand tightly, unblinking. Maybe it was the unexpected contact, or that his defenses were already destroyed. Or maybe it was just that she had not left him alone up here. So he whispered, "Pepper's pregnant."

She squeezed his hand even tighter.

That's when Tony realized. "You knew."

"I suspected," she replied. "She was sick a lot and it wasn't just exhaustion or grief."

"Thank you," Tony said softly. When Natasha shot him a confused glance, he added, "For being with her. While I was gone. She told me… she told me it wasn't easy."

Natasha sighed heavily. "No. No it wasn't." She didn't mention the riots, the hunger, the climate changes, the stock market crash, the catastrophic effects on governments around the globe. Tony already knew this, had hypothesized it in the dying spaceship, crunching numbers and figures to keep his mind from spiraling. Not the best coping mechanism, but it kept him sane. And when he'd returned, he found that Pepper had taken care of it, sending aid all over the world, attending emergency committee meetings at the U.N. and the Capitol. She told him she was pregnant the day he woke from the fever.

He discovered that it was possible to rejoice and have a panic attack at the same time. That heartbreak could occupy the same space as joy and terror.

His kid disintegrated in his arms.

His kid was alive, hidden and growing.

Hope wasn't really something he'd cultivated in the past. Tony Stark was a resilient, stubborn pain-in-the-ass who was terrified of the future and desperate to stop it. He'd relied on Fear over Hope. Then he'd had his lesson in Despair on a faraway planet.

But something was stirring stronger now, deep in Tony's chest, and for once, it was not Fear. "Thanos is going to wish he'd killed me."

"He's going to wish he'd killed _us_," said Natasha. _Us. _Tony thought of Bruce, who'd single-handedly brought him back to the land of the living. Thor, off-planet somewhere, rallying his people, but with a promise to return. Clint, who hadn't left the practice rooms in days, burying his sword into dummies with eyes hard as flint.

Steve.

"We aren't leaving this time, Tony."

He could feel Natasha's pulse under his fingers.

"Well then…" he murmured. "It's time to get to work."

* * *

**A/N: Reviews are welcome! (Read: Feed me!). The final installment of Atlas will be coming soon... (Tony and Steve will _actually_ talk)**


	3. Part III

**Welcome to the final installment of _Atlas_. Sorry for the delay, I decided to re-work a few things and it took longer than I intended. Thank you for all your kind reviews! Two more weeks people!**

**-Cat**

* * *

Part III

It did not take long to realize Tony was missing.

It did, however, take long to realize that Tony was not the only one. Steve's feet pounded the gravel, his heart and breath roaring in his ears. Not loud enough because he could still hear Bucky's confused, "Steve." He pushed harder.

At least Tony was back. And in one piece, according to the Colonel.

_Rhodes found Steve in the kitchen with Natasha. It was late and Steve could feel his control slipping. He hated the feeling. Like taking a nosedive into icy water, except this time it wasn't his choice. For weeks he'd remained what he thought people needed. Calm. Unbeaten. Strong. All it took was a day of Stark's madness to crack the facade. _

"_I told him we'd do it together, Nat," he had snapped at Natasha when she asked him if he was okay. _

"_Do what?" she asked, though she did not seem surprised by his sharpness. It was like she'd seen this coming and Steve couldn't stop the rest. _

"_LOSE!" he shouted. He saw the clarity on her face and knew she remembered. "He was so convinced, Nat! He tried to tell us but we weren't listening. Why didn't I listen? I am-I was the leader of the Avengers! I failed us, Nat. I failed him." _

"_Did you really imagine this when Tony talked about holes in space, Steve?" Natasha demanded. _

"_God, no," Steve breathed. "I never thought it would be like this." _

_Natasha sat down on one of the stools, her face blank. "I wonder if Tony thought it would," she murmured. _

_Steve hoped not. Six years was a long time to bear the weight of this kind of future. _

"_Steve-" she started, but then stopped. Her eyes went over his shoulder, to the entrance. Steve spun around from the community kitchen counter. Rhodes was in the doorway. His prosthetics were off and he sat in a wheelchair, sending a jolt shooting through Steve's spine. Rhodes' face revealed nothing. How long had he been listening? _

"_He's back," he said simply. _

"_Thank you," Natasha said when Steve couldn't speak. "For letting us know. You didn't have to." _

"_I know," Rhodes agreed. His dark eyes pinned Steve down. "Do me a favor, will you?" _

"_Sure," Steve said automatically. At this point, he was willing to do anything. _

"_Wait until tomorrow before you lay into him." At Steve's surprised look, he added, "Yes, I'm letting you at him. But go easy. And if he feels like talking, shut the hell up and maybe listen to him for once." _

"_I will," Steve promised. This time, he would listen. _

_Rhodes shoulders relaxed. His hands went to the wheels to roll backwards, but they stilled on the steel rims. "I think," he began. "I think he really is back this time. He did what he needed to do." _

Steve lapped the compound, nearly cutting his regular time in half. Where had Tony been all day while Steve was struggling to keep it together? Half-formed images of Tony drunk and alone marched across his imagination. But they were at odds with Rhodes' statement. "_I think he really is back."_

Steve knew that closure could not possibly be at the bottom of a bottle. Numbing pain didn't make it go away.

But then, Tony was made of something different than Steve.

Eventually, he had to slow to a jog, heaving on the frigid air of morning. A mist of rain was beginning to fall. Steve hated the film of dust that it left on his skin, so he forced his legs to move faster until he was indoors. The showers were empty, but then, most of the rooms in the compound were. He kept the shower quick and efficient. As the burning in his lungs faded, he couldn't stop the rest of the conversation from flooding back.

_Natasha studied Steve once Rhodes was gone. _

"_What did he mean, really is back?" _

_Steve was not sure how to explain the conversation he'd had with Rhodes in the weight room. "He means… he means Tony Stark. Iron Man." _

_Natasha's stare went from the door hissing shut behind Rhodes to Steve's face. Steve tried to smile, he really did. But Natasha was not a super-spy for nothing. She had been with him too long, watched him from behind her cool mask. He knew she'd seen him turned inside out. _

"_And what about Captain America?" she probed. Her gaze was steady, unblinking. _

"_He's still around somewhere," Steve deflected as casually as he could with his voice constricted by empty lungs. _

"_Liar," she retorted. "He's been gone for years." _

_Steve looked away. Becoming Nomad had been natural after Siberia. Besides, the red, white, and blue would attract attention. But to put on the uniform again after…_

"_This has to do with what happened Siberia?" she asked, chillingly accurate. _

_Steve never told her. At least not everything. He never told anyone and as far as he could tell, neither had Tony. But he was too exhausted to fight the truth now. It welled in his mouth like blood. "After he found out about Bucky… his parents… He wouldn't stop. I had to stop him, I had to…" The words died in his throat. She knew this. But the rest… _

"_Tell me," she said._

_He forced himself to meet her eyes. _

"_I slammed the shield into his chest piece. I destroyed the arc reactor." _

_Natasha's blank expression did not shift, but something in her posture did. That, she'd never known. _

"_He said I didn't deserve it. So I left it there." Painfully, he added, "I think that he might have been right." _

"_You were defending a friend." But Steve could hear the hitch of doubt in her voice now. _

"_Does that justify what I did?" he asked. He shot her a self-deprecating smile. "Don't answer that. If I haven't figured it out in two years, I don't think I ever will."_

"_Do you regret what happened?" _

"_Do I regret being loyal to my friend?" Steve clarified. "No. But I regret losing the other." _

_He escaped before she could respond. _

He shouldn't have unloaded on her. Truthfully, he'd never been that vulnerable with anyone except… Bucky. Bucky, who'd already seen him at his weakest, who wouldn't be shocked that Captain America was not _always_ strong.

He headed through dim hallways to the kitchen, hoping for a sparse, solitary breakfast. But as he approached, he heard low feminine voices conversing over the gurgle of percolating coffee. Feeling like he would be interrupting, he stayed in the shadow of the doorway and listened.

"...thank you, Natasha. For letting me know. I'm afraid I've been too exhausted to hear him wake up lately."

"Least I could do," replied Natasha's smooth alto. Steve began to retreat, recognizing that he would not be welcome in this conversation. "We… uh… we did a number on him, didn't we?" He paused.

"You aren't surprised though," Pepper stated. Her voice was flat.

"No, I'm just… I regret what happened. I am sorry, Pepper."

Pepper's soft sigh brushed through the kitchen and into the hall. "You did what you had to do," she said quietly. "And he found peace, for a while. At least, as much as he could manage. He fixed Rhodey's legs and stirred up politicians and built a suit that surpasses modern technology. And he had… other projects."

"The kid," Natasha murmured.

"The kid," confirmed Pepper.

"I don't think I realized..." Natasha began. Then she hesitated once more. It was unlike her to stumble over her words. She picked the next ones carefully. "He really cared about him."

"Yes," whispered Pepper. Steve could hear her fishing out coffee mugs and setting them on the counter. The conversation seemed to be over. The fridge was opened and closed, creamer was poured, the coffee pot signalled the brew was ready.

He was about to enter, pretending he heard none of it, when Natasha said suddenly, "He'll be good."

It was an odd thing to say. Steve froze in the doorway, fully visible. Natasha's gaze swept over to him. Her green eyes gave away nothing, but her lips twitched in greeting. Pepper turned and saw him as well.

"Good morning, Steve," she said cordially. Her hair was mussed with sleep and she was wearing one of Tony's Black Sabbath t-shirts. She retrieved another coffee mug, the obnoxious one Tony bought for him years ago that said, "God Bless America." Tony had added "Captain" in sharpie, plus a few doodles. She poured him a cup just as he liked it (simply black), then made her exit, pressing it into his hands.

"Thank you," he said, instead of the millions of other things he wanted to.

"Talk to him," Pepper replied gravely. Earlier, after the devastation and before they knew what happened to Tony, she'd been angry with him. He knew exactly what she thought about his behavior in regards to the Accords and Tony and Bucky Barnes. But after that first week, she'd softened and accepted his help when he could offer it. But her protective streak remained. That she was giving him her blessing to approach her fiance meant a lot.

Pepper stared hard at him until he nodded and said, "I will."

She smiled, a small, sharp edged thing. "If you mess up, you know who you answer to," she warned him. Steve swallowed. Then, she turned to Natasha, the edges fading into something tender. "I know he will. He already was." Her voice caught on the last word. Then she was gone.

Natasha, it seemed, was leaving too.

"Wait, Nat."

He caught her arm gently before she could pass him, two mugs in hand. He glanced questioningly at the second.

"For Clint," she explained succinctly. "He didn't sleep again. Tony could use some as well."

"Nat… about last night-"

"Steve."

Her tone cut off what he was planning to say.

"You messed up," she said firmly. But gently. "But underneath all that muscle, you're only human. Don't apologize to me for being strong enough to show it sometimes."

Steve did not understand what she meant. He'd forced a share of his burden onto her, hadn't he? He opened his mouth to say so, but she silenced him with an angled eyebrow. He swallowed and asked instead, "You saw Tony?"

"He was up early. I never went to bed."

"You should probably get some slee-" he started. She cleared her throat, cutting him off. "Yeah, nevermind. He talk to you?"

He was relieved when she answered, "Yes. In his own way."

"Did he tell you where he went?"

"I didn't ask."

Steve had to admire her restraint. But Natasha had an instinct for these things that Steve lacked.

"I can't undo what happened."

"No."

"Then what can I do?"

She stared down at her two mugs of coffee as she thought. Steve almost accepted that she was going to leave his question unanswered. Around them, the kitchen was very quiet, except for the rain that spattered against the windows.

"You and Tony were always giants, Steve," she finally said in a soft voice. "I used to think Fury was insane, putting you two in the same room together. But you worked. Somehow, you balanced each other and it was that balance that kept the rest of this team together. Without it… well, you know what happened. The Avengers need both of you, especially now. I may not know what Tony needed to do yesterday, but I think I know what you need."

Steve looked at her sharply. She gave him a rare, but sad smile.

"Things may never go back to the way they used to be, but they can be better." She gestured with her head, since her hands were occupied with coffee. "He's in the lab."

She left him in the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps barely audible above the rain. He listened until his enhanced hearing couldn't penetrate through the facility walls. Then he steeled himself. He took a minute to pour a second mug of steaming coffee, also black. It was a practiced, but long unkept routine. Once, he'd always brought the engineer coffee after his morning run. Before.

As he descended to the workshop, he could hear Nebula's sharp, clipped tones.

"It was stupid, taking off without telling anyone."

"I'm a big boy, Little-Girl-Blue. No need to blow your horn."

"You're still healing-"

"Yeah, I'm going to get this lecture from everyone else in this place, so I'm just going to cut you off right there-"

"You can't die."

"Don't be a drama-queen. That's my department."

There was a clattering sound as Tony dug around his tools.

"You could have. You could have aggravated the wound. Or been attacked. Your terran people can't decide whether to love or hate you."

"Welcome to Earth, where reputation matters more than fact."

"Terrans change their minds too often to be trusted."

"Preaching to the choir, Smurfette." The clattering stopped.

"I don't understand that saying."

"Nevermind."

"The wizard wanted you alive, Stark." Nebula's voice was low again. "Act like that means something."

"I am," Tony retorted. Then he added, softer, "I am now."

Then her mechanical footsteps were heading towards Steve. She glared at him with void-like eyes as she passed. Steve tried not to take it personally. The robot woman was unfriendly with everyone.

Inside the workshop, Tony was leaning back in his swivel chair, staring off into the distance. The glowing implant from his chest was abandoned on the workbench, diagrams and diagnostics hovering around it. His legs were slowly propelling the chair back and forth on the axel and his fingers tapped a rhythm on the empty spot where the arc reactor used to go. Just from the loose posture Steve knew that Tony had not yet noticed him. So when he stilled suddenly, Steve froze.

"Friday, pull all footage from the battle on Titan. And get the Wakanda stuff from the Hulkbuster."

"Looking for anything in particular, boss?"

"The gauntlet."

"Got it." Blue screens populated the air, filled with images of deep orange and green.

"Also… also access Karen's memory archives. See if she got anything from Titan. _Don't _wake her. Dummy, get over here." There was brief second that Steve thought that Tony was calling him over. But there was a crash in the corner of the workshop and the clawed robot came whirring over, beeping enthusiastically.

"Clean up. We're starting over," ordered Tony. Dum-E whistled happily and started tossing items on the workbench into random receptacles. "Hey, don't touch my housing unit. Friday when you're done, start collecting any research into the infinity stones. Has anyone heard from Thor?"

"No boss. He's still searching for the remaining Asgardians."

"Fine. Keep your ear to the ground. Nose to the grindstone. Eyes on the prize… You need something, Rogers?"

Tony was spinning towards him on his chair, toying with a small flathead screwdriver in one hand, tossing it up and down. Steve was struck by the realization that Tony had known he was there the whole time.

"I-"

"That for me?" Tony interrupted, pointing with the screwdriver towards the steaming mug.

"Yes."

Tony tilted his head suspiciously, but gestured to the workbench. Steve crossed the lab and set it down, then retreated a respectful distance. With a side-glance in his direction, Tony snatched it and sniffed.

"I haven't drugged it," Steve said half-humoredly.

"Can't be too careful," Tony responded. Steve couldn't tell if he was serious. But he took a large gulp and turned away from Steve. The-what had Tony called it?-_housing unit _lit up his face with a familiar blue glow that made Steve's hands grow cold. Struggling to shake the guilt loose, he tried to interpret the screens over Tony's shoulder. Red highlighted damaged areas, nanoparticle loss was indicated at 78%, a blinking warning light that showed system failures. He didn't recognize the systems… then noticed that Tony was still watching him surreptitiously, spine tense. His dark eyes fluttered away from contact and he muttered softly, "Jesus, I thought Nat was joking about the shifts." He spun back around and made a shoo-ing motion with his hand, announcing, "Thanks for the coffee, Rogers. I'm good now, so… go do your patriotic duty anywhere that isn't here-"

"Tony, we need to talk," Steve said firmly.

"Do we though?" Tony asked.

"We do. Us not talking is what caused all the trouble in the first place."

"You mean, _you _not talking."

"Yes," Steve agreed, guilt mixing with a bit of annoyance. "Tony-"

"Don't make that face. You said sorry, I said sorry. End of story." Tony shrugged, but his tone was taut as a bowstring. "I'm a little busy now, so unless we have another meeting where everyone sits around with no fucking clue what to do next-"

"Tony-"

"I know, bad language word, geez. But if you could sneak donuts into the meeting without Pepper knowing I promise I'll attend like a good boy-"

"Tony, that's not why-"

"Wait. I remember why I don't eat donuts-"

"_Tony_. Where did you go yesterday?"

"That's what this is about?" Tony rolled his eyes and kicked sideways on the ground, causing his chair to revolve in dizzy circles. "I'm not sure, but I think it's none of your business."

"Stark."

"So it's Stark now? Interesting… was it the part about this being _none of your goddamn_-"

"This is about you not communicating. You should have told someone you were leaving," Steve interrupted, raising his voice. He couldn't help it. Tony was being… well… more irritating than usual. Like he was trying to start a fight.

"I told Friday," Tony replied.

"Then disabled the tracking devices on your vehicle."

"I have a right to my privacy, Rogers," Tony replied. Whatever joking tone he'd dredged up was fading. Steve heard the warning, but chose to ignore it. Too much was boiling under the surface.

"You're still recovering. Anything could have happened."

"And yet here I am. Look, Avatar-ess already gave me this part of the lecture-"

"Yeah, well it sounds like she didn't get through. Suppose, for a second, that something _did _happen!" Steve demanded. Tony's eyebrow quirked, but Steve plowed on, struggling to keep from shaking him. Didn't he understand? "You're alive," he snapped. "You're alive and disappeared with two bottles of booze. You're alive and you are wasting it!"

Tony's entire body went utterly still (Steve flashed to the only time he'd ever seen Tony that still. Only now his eyes were open and blazing). "I am _not _wasting it," Tony hissed, so cold that Steve felt like he was back in the ice once more. Tony stood haltingly, tense and fists clenched. "Get out. I'm done with this conversation."

"Well I'm not done."

"Stop talking about things that you don't understand then!"

"What don't I understand?!" Steve shouted.

"_Everything!"_ Tony screamed. "We lost Steve! And guess what? That's on _us_. On you and me."

"You think I don't get that?!" Steve snapped. "You think I haven't spent every day blaming myself?!"

"Oh, right, 'cause Captain-fucking-America _always_ takes responsibility for his actions!" Tony retorted, his voice dark with sarcasm.

"I'm not here as Captain America right now!"

"THEN WHAT ARE YOU?" Tony roared back.

They came to a screeching halt. Tony was breathing heavily where he stood, nose to chin with Steve. His question lingered in the air like the smell after fireworks. Suddenly his gaze shuttered and he took a few stumbling steps backwards to lean heavily on his workbench. Steve took the respite to breathe away the panic that was skittering through his heart. He wanted to answer, but his tongue was numb. This was not going how he had planned. Natasha had been easier to deflect, because she allowed him to. Tony wouldn't. Tony needed to take things apart, examine their insides. Obsess, study, create, repeat, repeat, repeat…

Maybe that's what Natasha had meant. "_I think I know what you need_."

"I actually really don't want you to answer that," Tony whispered suddenly.

"Why?"

"Because then I'll know." _And I'd have to fix it._

Tony could take him apart.

Mechanics didn't just leave things disassembled. They fixed. They assembled.

So Steve answered anyway.

"I don't know anymore," he said. And added what he used to know. "I used to just be the skinny idiot who wouldn't back out of a fight. Who did right. Steve Rogers was enough." _Stevie._

"Huh," Tony breathed out. Betrayal flashed across his expression, but he said nothing else. Just leaned a little more heavily on his bench, perhaps. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Steve was already regretting saying so much. Too much. Feeling raw and a little mortified, he tried to reel it back.

"We aren't here to talk about me," he said, and he tried to sound strong. Steady. "This is about us. Both of us. We apologized, but we still can't talk to each other without shouting. So can we just… focus on that please?"

"On this?" Tony straightened motioned between the two of them jerkily. Then he let out an inelegant snort and turned away from Steve. "I think we've had enough for one day. And it's not even 8 am." The dismissal was blatant and abrupt, as it always was with Tony. And, since Steve knew better by now, it probably wasn't sincere. There was hesitation in those calloused hands as they went for tools and flipped through drawers.

"No," Steve decided. "Why did you leave yesterday?"

Tony glared at him, slamming whatever drawer he had open shut. "Back off, Rogers." He meant it. There was no hesitation now, only anger.

Steve opened his mouth to tell him that he had no intention of doing so, but was interrupted.

"_Tony._"

A deep voice resonated above the tinny recorded sounds of battle from Friday's footage. Tony flinched. The fire in his gaze sputtered and his eyes flitted to one of the nearest blue screens.

"_There was no other way._"

The man on the screen began to fade to ash and Steve averted his gaze. His throat hardened to stone. It was just like Bucky all over again. Tony was transfixed until-

"_Mr. Stark? I don't-_"

"Reduce all screens. Cut audio."

Tony's voice was broken glass. He sank down into his chair, lower his head into his hands. Without the screens, the workshop was dim and utterly silent. Steve took one step that echoed on the concrete floor. Tony did not move, so he took another and another until he was right in front of him. There was another stool, and Steve pulled it over and sat down.

"It was for someone else," Tony said suddenly, voice muffled by his hands.

"What?" Steve's brain was still processing the ominous proclamation from the projectors. Then the voice that followed, so, so young. And familiar like Brooklyn only… Queens…

"The booze. I drank apple juice like a good boy." Tony was sitting up again, but his eyes were suspiciously pink around the edges.

"Oh," Steve uttered monosyllabically. Then he was caught up, and a feeling of shame followed. God, he'd spent all day thinking… _angry_ because he'd believed… "_Oh_. Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed-"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Considering my history, it was not a totally idiotic conclusion. But then, you've had nothing to do with my history for two years. Whatever. Apology accepted."

"Who was it for?" Steve asked after a beat.

"It really is none of your business, Steve," Tony answered wearily.

"Right. Can we… start over?"

"Depends on how back you want to rewind, Cap."

"Just the last few minutes. I think that's probably all we can handle right now."

Tony stared at him, then started to chuckle. "Got that right."

Steve observed with a mixture of sadness and amusement. "You seem…" He trailed away, unable to find the right word. That was often his problem. He could see the lines in Tony's face. Recalled a past version, hollowed out and dying, sending a promise to Pepper. A promise that she would be the last thing he thought of. Even now he was far too thin. Steve could see his collarbones, jutting out sharply beneath his dark tank top.

But there was a slight change of value in the shadows beneath his eyes. Like he'd finally gotten a few hours of sleep. Like something that had been crawling under his skin had finally dissipated. And there was a spark now that had been absent. Steve gestured uselessly with his hand.

Tony raised a single dark eyebrow. "Better?"

"Not really," Steve said, frustrated with himself.

"Ouch."

"Better's just the wrong word," Steve amended.

Tony snorted. "Right again."

"I just think… whatever you were doing… I'm glad you did it."

Tony leaned back with his old grace except for an odd hitch. He fixed Steve with a calculating stare, stroking his goatee. Then, with a bluntness only Tony Stark could accomplish, he said, "I was telling a friend that her nephew was dead. Thought she could use a drink."

"Oh. God, Tony I'm-"

"Sorry?" Tony finished for him with a cutting grin. When would they ever stop using that word? "He begged me, you know. Didn't want to die and I couldn't do a damn thing. But I guess everyone in the world knows what that's like now. Same sob story."

"That doesn't diminish it," Steve said, though he was still trying to convince himself. "You mean Spiderman, right? Rhodes said that you'd grown close."

"Peter. His name was Peter." He caught Steve's eyes, brief as striking lightning. Because that's how it always felt to look Tony in the eye when his guard was down. Then the contact was gone and he added in a soft voice, "I'm… I'm sorry about Barnes."

Steve's throat clenched.

"He was the last connection I had-" he started thickly, but couldn't finish.

"I know," Tony said, much more gently than Steve would have expected. For the first time, the silence between them was not uncomfortable. It settled over the lab, filled with a hum of machinery and the bustle of Dum-E.

"Video compilation and analysis of the gauntlet complete, boss," announced Friday.

"Thanks, Fry." Tony sipped at the coffee Steve had brought him and leaned back in his seat. He looked at Steve. "I have a plan. Half of a plan. Okay maybe like… 12% of a plan. And I have a request."

"Anything," Steve said firmly. And meaning it.

"That skinny idiot that Bucky Barnes believed in? I'd like him back on my team."

Steve's teeth clicked together as his jaw snapped shut. Pure shock jolted through him, and suddenly, everything seemed sharper. Brighter. But he managed a nod.

"Good," murmured Tony. His gaze drifted. Steve followed it to the smaller bench, the one covered in the kid's-Peter's-things. "Half of all living things," Tony breathed out.

"Do you think there's a chance we could get them back?" Steve asked.

"Maybe. Either way, we're the avengers, right? Those people are our weight to bear."

"Some people would say we should move on," Steve pointed out.

"But you don't think that."

"No. I don't."

Tony considered him, before saying, "I didn't go into the city to tell May about Peter because I needed closure. She deserved to hear it from me. Before we bring them back. Or…"

"Or die trying."

"Or die trying," Tony repeated. "Though for the record, I'd prefer if we didn't."

"That's a first," Steve pointed out sardonically. "You aren't going to pull anything self-sacrificial last minute?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "As long as _you _don't. I've seen that future and would prefer a different outcome."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Friday, unit 17-B, please," Tony ordered.

Steve knit his eyebrows, but with a look from Tony, he bit off the question. They sat waiting, until the workshop doors opened and a rectangular steel safe rolled in on a cart. It stopped between them. There was a lock on the side, consisting of a keypad and a scanner. Tony stood and grabbed his glowing chest piece from the workbench. The holograms blinked away. The piece clicked into place, familiar and whole and blue, just above Tony's heart. "I'm going to find Pep, make sure she's resting between video conferences and saving the world. I'll be back. You should test that out. Balance is better, claw-marks repaired."

"Wait." Steve stared at the box, chest constricting. "Wait, Tony-"

"Code is 070476, Boy Scout," he called over his shoulder when he reached the exit. "Scan your thumb after entering it."

"Tony…" Steve started in a strangled voice, seeing the dimensions of the box. "I can't-"

"You can," Tony stated firmly. "Besides, you already promised you'd be on my team. The world needs Captain America."

"Tony-"

"And so do I."

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little story! Please leave a review if you have the time! **

_**For my sister.**_


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